Keep Holding On
by PrinceOfHell
Summary: Sam's got a crush on his 17 year old brother. He knows it's wrong, but he knows he can't help it either. Someone  a very not-nice someone  at his school suspects something weird is going on with him and does something about it. It all goes downhill.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Keep Holding On  
**Author:** PrinceOfHell  
**Genre:** Romance, Angst, Tragedy  
**Characters/Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Rating: **NC-17  
**Summary:** Sam's got a crush on his 17 year old brother. He knows it's wrong, but he knows he can't help it either. Someone (a very not-nice someone) at his school suspects something weird is going on with him and does something about it. It all goes downhill for Sam and Dean, but a little brother needs his elder brother, no matter what.  
**Disclaimer:** They're not mine (unfortunately)  
**A/N:** This idea came from life. I know that sounds pretty cliche, but it's true nonetheless. I, and many other teens struggle with their sexuality anywhere from the age of when they find out, to when they're adults. And sometimes, no one's there to help. A lot of what will happen in this fic happened to me personally and has happened to many before me and probably many in the future. We need it to stop, but it will take an army. I thank God every time I see an anti-bullying commercial or one of those "That's so gay" commercials because that means someone's trying. I wrote this fic because I love writing and I want to show how, whether it's because you love your brother, or just have bad acne, and it's resulting in bullying, that it's okay. Someone will come along in your life and help you. Please enjoy and comment if you'd like.

"I don't feel good, Dean. I can't go to school if I don't feel good." Sam slapped on his most pitiful puppy face and coughed into his hand. He scooted under the covers until they were up to his chin and sniffed loudly to add some pizazz to his act. But...

Dean's cool hand was covering his little brother's forehead and as soon as flesh touched flesh, he knew Sam was faking it. He didn't have a fever, and those coughs were pathetic. He could have done better.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes at his pathetic younger sibling and sat on the edge of his bed, the springs squeaking a bit.

"I know you're not sick. So what? Math test? Nah. Little Sammy loves math. Girl troubles. Nah. No girl would come near you."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's show. He would be hurt at the last comment, but Dean had said worse things in his life. And if it got Sam out of telling Dean the real reason he didn't want to go to school, he would let his older brother call him anything.

"No, Dean. I just don't feel good. Lemme stay home. Please?" Sam was about to turn on the waterworks. Dean could never stand to see his baby brother cry and he would cave like a rockslide at the sight of one tear.

Cold air swam over Sam as his blankets were pulled off his body. Dean threw the sheets onto the floor and grabbed Sam by his ankles.

"Dean, don't. Seriously."

A smirk flashed across Dean's face as he started to pull Sam off his bed and onto the floor. An ankle turned and slipped out of his grasp, kicking him in the chest. Air flew out of his lungs and he let go of Sam's feet. Rubbing his chest, he huffed and smirked at his little brother.

"Nice kick, Sammy. That almost hurt. Now getcha ass out of bed and let's go to school." Dean walked to his own bed and grabbed the leather jacket that was hanging from the post. "I'm gonna go start the car. If you're not out there in five, you are getting your ass kicked so hard, dude." Dean turned and walked into the hallway toward the front door, shrugging his jacket on as he went.

A short burst of anger ran through Sam at his brother's attitude, but it was soon washed away with fear. He had to go to school. His ruse didn't work.

He said a quick prayer of protection as he slipped on pants, shirt, socks, shoes, and jacket and raced out the door before his brother really did kick his ass.

+++++

The Impala rumbled to a stop in the parking lot of Hamilton. The local middle and high school for kids of Copenhagen, New York. Sam and Dean were staying at an apartment a few miles away while their dad was on a hunt for something grabbing hikers Danbury, CT. Typical times for the Winchesters, of course.

Sam stepped out of the car and pulled his jacket against the chilly wind blowing right through him. He feigned a cough for the fun of it and heard Dean scoff as they walked toward the front doors of Hell.

"If I even hear a rumor that you walked home early, you're in trouble. You've already missed a day this week, and two last week. You can't keep this up or dad's gonna have a cow when he gets back."

The warmth of the building engulfed Sam as he opened the metal door into the school. Dean ruffled his hair and whispered a "Have a good day, Sammy." into his ear and walked into the sea of people. Sam shivered at the warm spot on his his neck where his brother had breathed. He inhaled, exhaled, counted to ten, baseball, taxes, etc.

It was going to be a long day.

+++++  
_  
__Sam had no earthly clue where he was; only that strong arms were holding him against a cold wall. For some reason he couldn't keep his eyes open and why the FUCK was everything so confusing? His thoughts kept straying from his mind like they were leaking out of his ear and he was losing time. The only constants were those arms and that wall. ___

_Warm water rained down on him and he finally understood. The pain in his side reminded him of the hunt he, Dean, and their father were on. A glawackus in the shape of a lion was terrorizing a forest in Ohio and it had dug its claws into Sam's side.___

_The pain shot through his body as the water ran down the three jagged wounds. Moans escaped past his lips and his eyes opened to see Dean in the shower with him, holding him up and cleaning him up. ___

_"De-ean. Fuck." He whined through gritted teeth.___

_"I know, Sammy, I know. Just stay with me, okay? You gotta stay awake." Dean's hands wandered across Sam's skin, cleaning the wound and the dirt from his body. ___

_Sam had the brief sense that he could feel his insides and he knew that was wrong. Moving was awkward and painful so he kept his back against the tile and let Dean talk to him; keep him awake. ___

_All of a sudden Dean was gone from Sam's vision, but he could still feel his brother's hands on his legs. Another moan escaped his mouth as he realized where Dean was. He shut his eyes and imagined Dean on his knees, looking at Sam's wound, face inches away from his dick.___

_Sam shook his head. No, no. That's not what he was supposed to be thinking about. Thoughts like that were bad. Nononononono.___

_The insistent chanting in Sam's head didn't work as the length at his hips grew hard, despite the pain. He hit his head against the shower wall, slamming his eyes shut, praying as hard as he could that Dean wouldn't say anything. ___

_He could tell when his brother noticed because the hands inspecting the wound stopped the figure in front of him stood up and turned the water off. Sam didn't dare open his eyes as Dean wrapped Sam's arm around his shoulder and moved him to sit on the closed toilet seat.___

_The motion sent flashes of icehot pain up his side, but it helped with his previous problem.___

_Dean continued to fix him up, acting as if nothing had happened. They were teenage boys. Shit happened, right? It was the adrenaline. Had to be._

+++++

Sam's day at school was like any other's... Except not. He would sneak around corners to his locker, sneak around corners to his classes, but they always found him. No matter what stealth techniques he used, they **always** found him.

"Hey Sammy... What's happening? You have sex with your brother lately? You look a little wound up."

Everett King was a sophomore at Sam's school. He walked around with a smirk on his face, much like Dean's, and pushed kids into lockers and trashcans. Unfortunately, he liked Sam. Or hated him. All depends how you look at it.

+++++  
_  
__Sam scrambled into his seat in class and immediately opened his sketch pad to his most recent work. The kid had a knack for drawing, especially one subject. The profile of Dean's face was beautifully drawn onto the pristine white paper. If you flipped through the pages, you would see his brother in different poses. Sitting on the couch with a laugh on his face, staring off of the page with bright green eyes, even a few of Dean sprawled on his bed, naked, cock in hand. ___

_Sam knew that his notebook was never to be seen by anyone but him and shit would hit the fan if anyone found it ever. ___

_But, unfortunately, he was Sam Winchester, and luck didn't seem to follow him much. ___

_"Hey, squirt. Whatcha doin?" The whisper in his ear was Everett. This is where the nightmare started. ___

_The two shared art class together, even though the neanderthal showed no skill in the arts at all. So he spent his time bugging Sam. ___

_The sketch pad was ripped from Sam's hands while the teacher had left the room and he was proceeding to dangle it over Sam's head. And, of course, being of his small stature, Sam could do nothing but jump and make a fool of himself.___

_Someone grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him away from Everett who flipped through the pages of the book, expecting nothing but bowls of fruit and trees and shit. ___

_The look on the sophomore's face changed from smiling to wide-eyed and mouth open. ___

_"Shit, Winchester. You got the hots for a dude." Everett started to rip out all of the pictures that Sam had drawn of his brother and threw them on the floor at his feet. Sam went lax in the grip of whoever had him and knew his life was ruined. ___

_He turned in the grip and punched the teen in the jaw, hard enough that blood flew through the air. As the boy recovered, Sam turned and frantically picked his beloved art off of the floor, trying his hardest to hide who the man was he was madly in love with. _

+++++

Someone in that art room had seen one of the drawings of just a face and clearly recognized Dean Winchester, the artist's brother. The news spread through the room and hell swallowed Sam up.

Sam tried his hardest to ignore the tauntings of the boy as he continued his walk down the hall, but it was so hard not to when the rest of of the hallway snickered behind their books or ignored him like he was the plague.

He didn't know how they always managed to find him when Dean wasn't around. He was surprised Dean hadn't heard anything from one of his friends about all of the incidences that had occurred. Maybe it was just so taboo and unlikely no one had said anything.

He doubted Dean hadn't heard anything, but he wouldn't bring it up with Sam. That would be awkward and the brothers Winchester just didn't do awkward well.

Sam managed to pass Everett in the small hallway, but the teen decided to follow him.

"Hey, W-incest-er. What's it like? You the top or is he?" Everett grabbed Sam's shoulder and turned him to face him. "Fag, I asked you a question."

Sam tried his best glare out on the boy, but just received a laugh in return. Yeah, Sam could kick his ass, but he wanted to be normal and he didn't want Dean or his dad to find out just why he kicked Everett's ass.

Everett grabbed Sam by the throat and slammed him into a locker. His head banged against the slats and he knew there would be a goose-egg there soon. He wrapped his hands around Everett's fairly large ones and pulled.

"Get the fuck off me, Ev. Fuck you." He kicked forward and connected with shin, immediately regretting the decision.

The sophomore's face went from gleeful to pissed in point-six seconds and a fist came swinging at Sam's head. The impact was so hard, he didn't feel it at first. He felt himself slide down the locker and onto the cold floor, heard the bell ring and all the students scuffle away. A dull ache started behind his eye and he knew he would probably have a nice shiner.

"Fuck." Sam gathered his things and headed toward the lunchroom where he and Dean had lunch together everyday. He was dreading talking to his brother and having to create a lie in such a short time.

Dean was standing next to the door where he always waited for Sam when Sam walked in. Sam could see the anger spreading across his big brother's face as soon as he saw the reddening spot on his cheekbone. Sam knew he was royally pissed. His eyes went from a bright green to a dark forest and he stomped over to Sam.

"What the fuck happened, Sam? Who did this?" Dean grabbed Sam's chin and turned his head toward the light so he could see the damage better.

With Dean's hand clenching his jaw, Sam tried to talk the best he could. "It was nothing. I know you're not gonna believe me, but I just got into a scuffle over a project with someone. You should see him." Sam jerked his head from his brother's grip when he saw Everett walk though the other cafeteria door. You could hear his laughs and taunts from where they were standing and Sam blushed. Fuck.

Dean looked up at the entering teen and sighed, knowing. "Dude, you've taken bigger. He's not even that big. Why didn't you beat the shit out of him?"

Sam's emotions shot up and he moved into Dean's space, glaring at his brother. "We have the conversation every fucking time someone touches me. I'm not going to fight them back. I'm not even going to try. I am a normal kid from a normal family and I will NOT beat the shit out of someone over something so petty as a project.," he hissed, sticking with his lie. "Besides, it's just a black eye. 've had worse."

Sam moved away from Dean and walked back out through the cafeteria doors. He didn't want to watch what Dean was going to do to Everett and he wasn't hungry anyway.

+++++

**A/N:** Okay, now I'm done. With chapter one anyway. What I said in the notes at the beginning is true. It's gonna get bad. I don't know if I've got the writing talent to portray how bad it is, but I'm going there. Tell me what you think. 3


	2. Chapter 2

+++++

The rest of the day went better than expected. Everett didn't make any smart-ass comments about Dean and his contact in the lunchroom and Dean avoided him completely. Of course Sam wanted to see him, but he did **not** want to hear any lectures. So he walked the halls of Hamilton until 2:20 p.m. and then walked the few miles home.

Sam could hear the Impala before if pulled up next to him. The deep rumbling sounding like home. That big, black, shiny, boat had been home since Sam was old enough to hunt. Just another fucked up thing about the Winchesters.

"Get in the car, Sammy. It's three miles to the apartment." Dean's eyes were pleading as he creeped the car with his brother's pace.

"I can walk it, Dean. It's not like it's fifteen degrees outside. It's a really nice day and I think I'll walk. Thanks." Sam didn't even glance at Dean. He knew he was hurting his brother, but he could not risk the possibility of a talk about the bullying which would lead to the root of the problem.

Before Dean could make some face and force Sam into the car, Sam 90-degreed into an alley that he knew would eventually lead to a street he could use to get home.

+++++

The ice pack was cold and heavy on his eye, but he knew the end result would be better with it. Dean hadn't said anything since Sam had gotten home other than "Have you done your homework?" and "Fuck, Sam, don't leave your shit in the floor. I almost died."

Sam was okay with this. He hadn't been feeling himself lately. A sick feeling was building in his gut, almost like anxiety. He didn't know why. He had school tomorrow, but he faced that shit everyday. Why was he feeling so nervous tonight?

Around ten, Sam could hear Dean rustling around in the bathroom getting ready for bed. In his mind he could see his brother, naked but for a towel, water dripping from his skin. A quiet moan slipped through his open mouth and he got off the couch, heading for the bedroom.  
_  
___

He repeated mantras to himself everyday. Everyday Dean would do something, say something that just did it for Sam. He was pretty sure it was those fucking hormones that teenagers got a massive dose of this time in their lives, but that didn't mean it was right. Dean was his brother, for chrissakes.

Sam smacked a palm against his head, sure he was losing his mind and he just needed to wake up or something. The good thing was their dad was out of town so Dean slept in the master bedroom and Sam got a bedroom all to his self. That meant he could stay up late reading or watching the small TV they had in their room or...

Sam's mind slowed to a crawl. He could, couldn't he? Today was a shitty day, he was feeling shitty and anxious and he knew it would help. His frown deepened as he thought about Dean walking in, but he **needed** it.

Double-checking the lock on his bedroom door, Sam pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled apart the front credit card slot. Inside was exactly what he was looking for. The glint of the silver shone in his eyes, and for a moment, he felt guilty for wanting it so bad, but it soon went away when he ran his finger across the blunt edge of the trapezoidal blade.

The first cut was shallow, just enough to feel what the blade could do. No blood. Just a white line across his skin. This particular blade had been used before and it was dull enough to hurt and to bleed.

A tear fell from a hazel eye as Sam rolled his pant leg up and looked at the scars and cuts from previous "episodes" as his counselor liked to call them. He had told Mr. Davis about his habit and, luckily, his dad wasn't in town and didn't find out. But Mr. Davis was still worried about him. Sam had told him not to worry. He wasn't going to off himself or anything. He may be a Winchester, but he didn't have the balls for **that**.

The blade cut into his skin and blood welled to the surface almost immediately. He could almost feel a weight being lifted off his shoulders. The pain of the razor in his skin took his focus away from everything and he sat back and smiled for a few minutes before starting a particularly deep and long one on his shin bone. It hurt, but that was the point, right?

The endorphins rushed through his brain and he stashed the blade back into its rightful place in his wallet. He lifted his pant leg and awkwardly walked over to his bed where he plucked a few tissues and pressed them against the deepest cut.

He could hear Dean walking through the hallway as he put his jeans back down.

"Bitch, go to sleep." Dean hit his fist against the door and stayed in front of the door. Sam saw his shadow move after a few moments of silence and he felt relieved Dean hadn't tried to come in.

It was time for bed, though. Sam yawned and stripped down to his boxers and plopped onto his bed, double-checking to make sure his cuts weren't bleeding onto the sheets. Soon enough, darkness flowed through his brain and sleep fell upon him.

+++++

_Teeth nibbled along his jaw and he moaned at the caress of fingers splayed across his ribs. Sam closed his eyes and just felt. It was all he could do at the moment because his hands were currently attached to the headboard posts with strips of what felt like a t-shirt. Just the fact he couldn't touch his lover turned him the fuck on and he moaned louder. ___

_His hair was gripped tightly, his throat exposed as the man bit down his windpipe, leaving Sam literally breathless. A trail was being made down his chest with a few stops to his nipples and bellybutton on the way. This guy was so good. He left Sam quivering, shaking, wanting more, needing release before his pants were even off. ___

_But then the pants were off. Sam jacked his hips up to allow his jeans to be pulled all the way off and was given no time to adjust at all when a warm, wet, heat engulfed his leaking cock. A tongue slid across his slit and around his crown, taking its sweet motherfucking time to lick its way to Sam's base. The feeling of his cock down the throat of a this guy was too much. He tried and tried not to thrust too hard but he just wanted to fuck this guy's mouth so bad. He pushed forward and his orgasm hit him like a train. He could feel the man swallow every last drop and work him through the aftershocks. ___

_As Sam lay there, trying to figure out how the fuck he got a guy like this in his bed, said man leaned forward and stared green, green eyes into Sam's hazel ones. ___

_"Dean." Sam sighed and shut his eyes.___

_"Yup, Sammy. Dean." ___

_They both turned their heads at the sound of pounding on their bedroom door. ___

_"Sammy. Wake the fuck up? Why's the door locked? You're gonna be late for school. By the way, we don't have any Lucky Charms left. Early bird gets the worm."___

__

Sam sat up in the bed to the sound of the door trying to come off its hinges. He dragged a hand down his face and grimaced at the wet spot on his bed. _Dammit._

"I'm up, Dean. Jesus Christ! Hold on a second." Sam threw the covers off of him and onto the floor. He would have to deal with them later or get a lot of shit from Dean about it. He threw on the jeans from yesterday and a shirt from the drawer across the room. Socks and shoes complete the outfit and he's out the bedroom door.

Dean was sitting in the Impala, tapping his fingers on the wheel. Sam rolled his eyes, not ready for the Motorhead or Metallica he assumed was in the tape player. It was too early for that, but Dean wouldn't care what Sam had to say about it anyway.

Sam opened the car and out blasted Blackened by, you know who, Metallica. Sam mentally shrugged and slid into his second home.

"Sweet dreams, Sammy?" Dean looked over, eyes crinkling with a smile. Sam was sure he didn't know, but you could never tell with Dean. He was a curious character and was full of surprises.

"Yeah, sure... Freak." Sam smirked back at his brother and remembered his dream from the night before. Those beautiful green eyes staring at him from above. The feeling of that hot mouth on his cock.

Sam realized he was staring at his brother's mouth and Dean had a curious gleam in his eye.

"Let's just get to school, dude. I don't wanna be late. I have a test in first period."

Dean continued to stare and smile at his little brother, but soon put his baby in reverse and drove the route to the school.

The first thing Sam noticed when they pulled into their reserved parking spot was a group of guys centered around Everett. He prayed to the good Lord above that they weren't going to say anything while he was around Dean. He knew it was bound to happen eventually, but maybe they would move before Everett said anything.

Dean stepped out of the car and stared at Sam through the windshield. "Come on." he mouthed. Sam knew it would look suspicious if he just sat in the car. It would look like he was scared. And he was, no doubt, but don't let the enemy know you're afraid.

He stepped from the Impala and made sure there was a good yard between he and his brother as they walked into school.

There was still about half an hour before classes started. Kids were hanging by lockers, talking in their groups. Some were in the lunchroom eating breakfast or just chilling. Sam didn't have a "clique" so he just walked to his locker, separating himself from Dean. He glanced back to see his brother flirting with that Kathleen chick and he felt a pang of jealousy flow through him.

He also saw Everett walking toward him. He opened his locker quickly, not wanting his books strewn across the hallways. When he turned to look at his enemy's progress, Everett was nowhere in sight. Sam let out a relieved breath and closed his locker. He turned toward the restroom at the end of the hall. Gotta follow routine. Get to school, locker, bathroom, library until bell rang, class. Everyday it was the same. It's not like he had anything else to do. He couldn't hang around with Dean because he was his kid brother, and that wasn't cool. And it meant an increased chance of Everett popping out of fucking nowhere and laughing at them both.

The door squeaked as Sam entered. The bathroom wasn't that clean, smelled like a bathroom, and was, at that time, empty. Sam sighed, relieved. As much as they were on the road, public restrooms weren't his thing.

He walked to the second to last stall and pushed open the door. Before he could turn around to shut it, a hand shoved him against the back wall, his shins hitting the hard porcelain of the toilet.

"What the fuck?" Sam tried to turn around, expecting to see Dean there, but his brother wasn't standing behind him.

It was Everett... And he looked ecstatic.

Thoughts raced through Sam's brain. What the fuck was Everett doing? Was he gonna beat his head in on the toilet? Was he gonna just plain beat the shit outta him? All of the possible scenarios ran through his mind as he tried to push against the strong hand that was holding his torso against the wall.

His worst fear was confirmed when Everett bunched Sam's shirt in his fist and pulled him back, just to shove him into the side wall of the tiny stall.

Sam's fists flew back behind him, connecting with nothing. He knew what was about to happen and it couldn't. This couldn't be happening and it wouldn't. Tears sprang to Sam's eyes as he tried his hardest to kick and punch and wriggle out of the boy's grip.

Something cold and sharp was at his neck. A knife. The fucker pulled a knife on him. Sam stopped struggling and shut his eyes. It **was** gonna happen and he couldn't stop it. The stall was too small for Sam to block any shots. He was pinned to a wall with a knife at his throat by a huge guy. Fuck.

An unwanted sob escaped Sam's lips as a hand reached forward and cupped his crotch.

"Not one word, Winchester. It'll be over quick. I just wanna get my rocks off and you seem like the type to like it." He pulled the knife from Sam's throat and dangled it in front of his eyes. "So shut the fuck up. Now and after. I don't want to hear even a rumor, okay?" He palmed Sam through his jeans and dropped the knife from his victim's view.

Big hands fumbled with the button and zipper of Sam's jeans and he let another sob slip through.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is happening. Please, God, please, no.___

His jeans were around his ankles and a callused finger was shoved in his ass. He let out a cry at the sudden and painful intrusion. The knife was at his throat again, a silent threat.

Sam could hear Everett's labored breathing in his ear. He blocked out everything. Apparently, the things his father had taught him about hunting could be applied in the real world. Good. It was working. Nothing was happening. Just blackness. He thought about Dean. His eyes and his freckles. How his skin practically glowed in the summer when he took his shirt off while working on the Impala.

Then it happened. He could feel the ripping, the tearing. He knew there was blood. It was like someone was ripping his soul in half. Sam came to the conclusion that that was what was really happening here. His soul was broken and now he would never be normal. Broken people weren't normal. He saw the way parents looked when told their children had been taken, killed. Broken.

Everett backed away and another cry left Sam's throat as his cock was removed. He could feel blood and semen dripping down his leg and he didn't care. He couldn't. The pain was too much. His brain stopped, couldn't think, feel. He was done.

He could dimly hear Everett laugh and feel a hand against his ass, a "thanks" whispered into his ear. But none of it was real. He slid his body down the stall's wall and knelt with his head against the cold metal, pants pooled around his ankles, blood on the floor.

Sam hit the toilet before he vomited all over the floor. He let it all out. He puked and cried and bled. Nothing would be okay now.

+++++

**A/N:** I know some people are tired about hearing teenagers cutting themselves and I've noticed it's kind of becoming a joke with some groups of people. I did it and am not afraid to say it. And I didn't do it for the attention, which is what people like to think it's about. I just wanted to add that little bit into the story because I know that there are people out there who do it because it does make them feel better and I understand. And for those of you who do it for attention, or think it's a joke or "fun," you're the ones that need the help.

Okay, now that I'm done being a bitch... Writing this story has just brought out some issues with me. I'm not usually so serious. You should see my Facebook lol Anyway, please comment. It makes me feel special when you do. 3

I also want to thank those of you that are commenting and saying you're sorry for what I've gone through. Everything's fine now. Learning self-confidence can really get you places. Thanks guys and if you're going through something, PM or something and we'll talk.


	3. Chapter 3

His stomach hurt. And his head. It felt like it was going to explode.

Sam stumbled from the bathroom stall and leaned his hands against the cold porcelain of the sink. The boy in the mirror looking back at him wasn't him. It couldn't be. His face was red, drying tear tracks went from eye to chin, bloodshot eyes.

Nope. Wasn't him. Why would he be crying? Nothing happened.

Sam turned from the blurring image in the mirror, picked his books from the shelf on the wall, and walked into the hallway. It was empty. Apparently classes had already started. How long had he been in there?

After the _incident_ Sam had sat there, staring at the pool of blood under him getting bigger and bigger. It had eventually stopped, but he just continued staring. Of course, he wasn't really looking at it. He wasn't really looking at anything. His mind was blank, except for one thing. Dean.

His brother would never forgive him for not fighting back. He was small, but he could have tried. But Everett had a knife, right? That was enough that Dean wouldn't get mad? Sam wasn't so sure and could already hear Dean's disappointment.

But Dean was his brother. Maybe he would stand up for him. Maybe he would hold him and make it all go away.

Sam had realized he was worrying over nothing. Everett had told him not to say anything, so why would Dean be mad or sympathetic? Dean would never know.

Sam looked at a clock over the lockers, informing him that it was already second period and he was going to be pretty late to art. Which was fine by him. That was the class he and Everett shared. A shiver went through him and he finally felt it. The pain, the feeling, in his ass. He wasn't bleeding anymore, but he could still feel **it**_**. **_And that just made him want to fall to the floor and cry.

But that wasn't going to happen. He was going to go to the front office and tell them he needed to go home; that he was sick. They would let him because his attendance record was flawless and they would believe him when he said he needed to go home. He was a good kid with eyes that could make a professional wrestler cry. They would let him go home.

Pain shot into his stomach each step he took down the hall. It was almost debilitating. It was sharp and his brain kept trying to get him to stop and drop to the floor. But he had to keep going. He had to get home and... He had no clue what he was going to do, but punching a wall or a door sounded good.

After what felt like miles of walking and, God, the pain, he opened the front office door and met the secretary's eyes as he told her he wasn't feeling well and would like to go home. Apparently he didn't look well because she didn't even wait to tell him that, of course he could go home. He just needed to sign out and have someone pick him up.

Shit. Dean would have to take him home. There was no way he could walk all the way home like this. But he couldn't face Dean now.

Sam sat in a very unoriginal plaid armchair by the door and shook as he heard them call for Dean over the intercom. The shaking worsened as the minutes ticked past. He knew Dean would know. Or he would at least know something was wrong. And he wouldn't give up until his little brother told him what was up. Sam just hoped that Dean would feel bad that Sam was sick and not say anything at all.

+++++

The door opened and a smirking Dean walked through, expecting to be chastised for making trouble in class or something equally immature. Instead, he saw was a worried looking secretary and a sick looking Sam. He ignored the woman's explanation and immediately went to Sam's side.

Something was wrong with his Sammy. He would tell Dean he didn't feel good in the morning so he didn't have to go to school, but once Dean got him up and moving, Sam never said another word about. He must have been coming down with something the day before.

Dean placed his hand on his little brother's knee, only to have the knee pulled out from under his touch. Sam's eyes were wide, scared. He was pale and shaky. Dean inched closer but didn't touch his brother.

"Hey, buddy. What's wrong?" He longed for Sam to look at him and tell him what was wrong, but his little bro was a stubborn one and he knew a lie or nothing was the only thing coming out of that mouth.

Sam just sat, staring at the tacky linoleum floor of the office. "I don't feel good. I just want to go home." He looked up, straight into Dean's eyes and Dean chased away the fear that that wasn't his brother. His eyes were blank, vacant. "Will you take me home?" Sam cast his gaze to the floor again and Dean stood, walking to the front desk.

"I'm gonna take him home and stay home with him. Our dad's away on a business trip and I don't want him home alone and sick." Dean pulled the sign out clipboard toward him and signed both his and Sam's names as he refrained from looking at the secretary. She had never really liked Dean and could probably sniff out a lie and make Sam and Dean stay if they didn't leave in a hurry.

"Just make sure you sign yourselves out. And take good care of him." She sported a concerned look as she turned toward Sam who was slouching in the chair and just staring at the floor.

Dean smiled and mumbled a "will do" as he went back to his baby brother.

"Okay. I'm gonna take you home. Alright?" Dean went for Sam's arm to pull him from the chair, but it slipped from his grasp as Sam pulled away and stood up on his own.

"I can do it, Dean. Don't touch me." Sam's quiet voice was barely registering in Dean's ears and he watched, dumbfounded as Sam walked through the office door and toward the parking lot.

+++++

Sam clutched his books to his chest, hard corners digging into his muscles. This was great. Dean was going to take him home and he was going to stay there with him. Sam generally wouldn't mind the company, especially if he was sick. But he wasn't and he just needed some alone time (away from Dean time) to sift through some stuff.

He didn't quite know where to begin or how to begin, for that matter. All he knew was that he got hurt and he didn't want Dean to know about it.

Sam slid into the Impala and cringed as pain shot up his spine. He faced the window, begging the good Lord above that Dean hadn't seen that. He placed his forehead against the coolness of the Impala's window and closed his eyes, feigning sleep and sickness so he could avoid a conversation.

It apparently worked because Dean never said a word from the time he got in the car to the time Dean parked the car in the apartment's lot and got out.

Sam stepped out after him and grimaced as he stepped onto the curb heading toward their first floor apartment. Dean was looking at him like he was some invalid. Sam held back the temptation to yell something about staring problems at his brother, but he really just wanted to go inside and... He wasn't sure.

Dean unlocked the door and Sam stepped inside, his brother following.

"Can I getcha anyth-"

"No, Dean. I just want to go lay down." Sam cut Dean's words off with a harsh tone and headed down the hallway toward their shared room. He ignored the frustrated "fine then" as he shoved open the door and slammed it shut, making sure it was locked.

He couldn't breathe. Sam wasn't really sure what was happening right then, but he knew he was about to break down and Dean could not see that.

Sam was right. He broke down. Books were thrown on the bed in anger, tears welled in his eyes as his knees buckled and hit the floor with a loud thump. He didn't know what he felt, just that he _felt_ and it hurt and he wanted it to go away. He could see dark spots on his jeans where his sadness was falling onto the fabric.

He stood, ready to throw something. There was something inside him and it needed to get the fuck out and it wasn't. As he picked a textbook from the pile on his bed, he realized throwing it would alert Dean that something was going down and he wasn't about to be found like this.

More tears flowed as he threw the book back on the bed, followed by himself. Sam sat on the edge of the bed, and what felt like the edge of the world. His head was in his hands, tears were sliding down his cheeks and he repeated like a mantra "fuck, fuck, fuck."

He knew he was probably having a panic attack, but at least he was feeling something.

Soon, Sam's tears had dried and he was empty again. Laying on his bed with his own thoughts, he finally realized why he felt so empty.

He had been raped; violated. Someone shoved him up against a bathroom stall and raped him. And you know what really killed him about that?

Dean wouldn't want him. He was unclean. And once Dean found out what had really happened, he would figure out that Sam hadn't fought back and he would think that his little brother was a freak who loved his brother and liked to be raped.

Sam sat up at the realization that he would never have Dean now. He couldn't have him because he was his older brother, but now there wasn't even a tiny glimmer of hope. It was over. Sam was over.

He leaned forward just enough to grab his wallet out of his back pocket. He was going to fix this. He knew how to fix this.

He picked at the supposedly empty card slot and pulled the blade from its depths. The wallet gets thrown on the floor, unimportant anymore. The blade, however, gets Sam's full attention and is pushed into the skin on his wrist until blood wells to the surface; it drags across his scarred skin perfectly. It's much deeper than any other that Sam has ever done, but it won't kill him. He sets aside the blade and crouches next to his bedside table.

The second drawer was where he kept his most important pictures. A small smile flutters on Sam's lips as he thinks of the day Everett found the portrait of his brother, which is conveniently sitting on top of the large pile. Most of the pictures are of Dean. A few are of John and there's one of Mary; a portrait of a picture sitting on their coffee table in the living room.

Sam takes a picture of Dean, a portrait of just his handsome face with eyes colored green. He takes a pen in his hand, wrist still bleeding, and writes a note to his older brother. It kind of makes Sam feel a little better about his next task. Makes him feel like at least Dean will know why and that will help him.

The picture is placed on the table in between their beds, Dean's bedside table. Sam glances up at his dresser. It holds the tools he needs to get this job done so he walks and sits in front of it. He slowly opens the bottom drawer and digs through pajamas and swimsuit trunks until he can close his fist around what he needs.

He pulls his hand from the drawer and opens his palm. A knife Dean gave him for his tenth birthday. He had never used it before. It just followed them wherever they went and sat in a drawer in whatever city they ended up in. But now it'll get used.

Sam relishes the _shink_ of the blade popping from its sheath. And he can see that it's sharp. It's never been used and Dean gave it to him. Of course it would be sharp.

Sam can fix this. He would fix this.

_Down the road, not across the street._ Sam laughed at the phrase he once heard some kid with scars on his arms say at lunch one day. The blade was cold and he couldn't feel it. It was so sharp as it trailed down Sam's arm. Blood came to the surface almost immediately, telling Sam that he did right. Matching the line on his other arm, Sam turned and sat against the dresser, waiting for the black to take over.

+++++

**God**, he was hungry. He had taken Sam home before they had lunch and it was about that time. Dean's stomach growled in agreement as he rose from his comfortable spot on the couch, TV remote in hand. He set it down on the coffee table before going to ask Sam what he wanted on his pizza, if he wanted any at all.

The kid had looked bad. Dean had seen his brother sick, and it was a pitiful sight. But something was different this time. He looked sick, but he looked... scared? Dean had no clue what was up with his little bro, but pizza made everything better, right?

Dean knocked on their bedroom door. Yeah, it was his bedroom, too but Sam was 13 and had weird issues on privacy these days. Fighting was **not** on the agenda for Dean.

There wasn't an answer though, not even a peep from the other side. Dean reached for the knob. It was locked.

Panic shot through him. Sam never locked the door. It was a rule in the family. Locked doors did no good if someone needed to get to you quickly and Sam knew this.

"Sam! Open the fucking door!" Dean waited a mere heartbeat, heard nothing, and started running his shoulder into the door. Something was wrong with his Sammy. He knew it now.

Dean could feel his shoulder bruising as he splintered the wood with brute force. It was taking too long, so boot it was. His steel-toed opened the door right up and he cringed at the sight before him, ready to fall to the floor.

"Sam. Shit... Fuck!" Blood. That was all Dean could see. And it was coming from Sam's wrists. Sam was dead. Sam had killed himself.

Dean ran forward, scrambling to his little brother, checking for a pulse. He found one, but it was faint.

"Sammy. Come on. Talk to me." He placed his hand on his brother's cheek and it was cool. "Fuck, Sam. **FUCK!**" Dean looked around the room, panicky, looking for something to wrap Sam's arms in to stop the bleeding. God, there was so **much**. Dean had seen a lot of blood in his time, but this was making him sick.

His eyes landed on the bedsheets and he raced over and ripped them from the bed, stumbling back over to Sam. He gingerly picked Sam's arms up and placed a torn strip of sheet under each one, pulling up and tying them tight. The cuts were deep and Sam was barely hanging on. He didn't know if this would stop the bleeding, but he had to pray it would.

Dean's mind jumped to the future for a split second. Sam in a hospital, on all kinds of meds, sitting in a bright room with other kids his age with "problems". No. Nonononono.

Dean grabbed Sam's face in his hands and gripped him tightly. "I swear to God, Sammy, if you die, I will bring you the fuck back and beat the **shit** out of you." His threats soon turned to cries as he pulled his brother toward him and rocked him back and forth, willing warmth back into Sam's body.

A cry escaped from a mouth that wasn't Dean's and he stopped. Sam's eyes were slits in his head, but were open nonetheless. He pulled Sam away from him and placed his hands on his neck, lifting his head with his thumbs. "Sammy. You with me? C'mon. Let's get you to the bed. Jesus, Sammy. Please stay with me, okay?"

Another moan escaped from Sam's mouth, but his eyes were still open, thank God. Dean closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to his brother's head for two seconds before he carefully lifted his lanky Sam and moved him to the bed.

Dean set his brother on his sheetless bed and sat down next to him. He knew tears were streaming down his face, but he didn't care. His baby brother just tried to off himself. Thank God he didn't achieve. Dean knew they weren't out of the park yet, but Sam was opening his eyes and, when Dean checked, his pulse was stronger.

Why the fuck would Sam try and kill himself was what Dean wanted to know. When he turned away from his brother to hold his head in his hands, a bloody piece of paper caught his eye. Dean let out a sob at the thought of Sam thinking about doing this long enough to write a suicide note.

Suicide. That word. It hurt Dean's head to think it. It was a harsh word and it didn't belong in anyone's vocabulary.

Dean reached forward, keeping a close ear on his recovering (physically) brother. The paper was thicker than regular paper and Dean could see a drawing on it, as well as the chicken scratch his brother called writing.

His eyes widened. It was a picture of him. And it was beautiful. Green eyes stared back at Dean as he wondered how he hadn't known of his brother's talent. Dean pulled his eyes away from his own portrait and read the almost last words of his little brother.

_Dean. I love you. But I can't live like this anymore. I'm sorry. I guess I can tell you why since I won't be here to be embarrassed, so here goes. Everett_ _King raped me in the bathroom this morning. Yeah, I know. Sucks. But now I'm not worthy enough to be here with you and I guess I'll see you later.___

_I do love you, Dean._

Dean crumpled up the bloody paper in his palm and laughed at the way his brother wrote his last words. It was just like him. Be a little funny, be a little serious.

And then it sunk in. It had taken awhile, but Dean could feel his blood boiling as soon as it hit him. Fucking Everett King hurt his brother enough that he thought he needed to die. Well, now Dean was going to return the favor and make Everett King pay.

Dean threw the trashed paper on the ground and turned toward Sam. His eyes were open now and staring right through Dean.

"Sammy?" Dean turned to sit toward his brother and stared back. "You okay now? Please nod or something. Please." Dean hadn't realized he was still crying through his anger, but it looked like he was going soft.

Sam's hazel eyes seemed to refocus on Dean and a single tear just made its merry way down Sam's cheek. But, by the grace of God, he nodded.

A nervous laugh blew out of Dean's mouth at the movement. He leaned forward and grabbed his broken Sammy in his arms. "I'm going to go kill this kid, okay? Don't worry. I don't hate you. I love you, Sam. And if you ever do something like this again, I swear to God I'm going to kill you."

Dean carefully set Sam back on the bed. "I'm going to go get some water for you. And then I'm going to leave for a few minutes. You have to promise me that you won't do anything stupid while I'm gone." Dean had a smile on his face the whole one-sided conversation. He couldn't wait to kill that Everett kid and he wanted to reassure his little brother that he wasn't pissed or disgusted, like Sam thought he would be.

"I love you, Sam. Okay? You got that?" Dean laid his hand on Sam's shoulder and bore his eyes into his little brothers. "You got that?"

He got a small nod from Sam and his smile widened. He patted his brother's shoulder and went to the kitchen, bringing back a glass of water.

"Drink. I'll be back." He could see that Sam's eyes were closing again, and a shot of panic raced through him. He pressed his fingers to Sam's neck and felt a strong heartbeat beneath them. His little bro was just sleeping off the drama. He knew Sam would be okay, especially after he seriously messed up this kid.

+++++

It was around 12:30 when the Impala rolled into the parking lot of the school. Dean felt like his baby couldn't have gone slower and the thought of Sam being alone back at the apartment kept itching at the back of his mind. But he had business to attend to.

Dean stormed through the halls after he checked back in. Luckily, it was in between classes and he didn't have to lurk in the hallways waiting for Everett.

Dean had seen the kid on occasion. Big, too big for a sophomore. Probably held back a year or two, football player type. As soon as he could clearly picture his face in his mind, Dean could see the top of Everett's head sticking up from the crowd. Anger coursed through him and he could see Sammy lying on the floor, dead, because of this dick.

He had it all planned out in his head. Hand in his jacket, wrapped around the butt of his gun, he walked up to the teen and pressed the barrel against his back in a way no one would notice. He had to lean up a bit to get to the guy's ear, but when he did, his threat to walk toward the bathroom and no telling was fierce and deep.

Everett seemed completely obliged to follow his attacker's rules and stepped through the halls, Dean at his heels, and into the bathroom. As soon as the door shut, Dean turned his brother's rapist around and shoved him against the closest wall, gun pointed at his chest.

"Fuck. What do you want? Who the fuck are you? What did I do to you? Please don't hurt me."

Dean laughed. He was begging like a little baby.

"Aww. What a big man. You have to go and rape a kid to get your rocks off and you ask me not to hurt you." He stepped closer and shoved the gun into Everett's chest. "I'm Dean Winchester, motherfucker, and you hurt my brother."

Dean could feel Everett's racing breath on his face and was shocked when it slowed and a smile crept across the fucker's face. "You mean the brother that wants to fuck you?"

Dean's anger faltered to confusion and he loosened his grip on his gun. What the fuck? He knew that Sam used to have feelings for him, but Dean knew that he would grow out of them. And he did. What was this fucker talking about?

At his pause, Everett took it upon himself to explain. "I saw the pictured he draws of you. He draws you naked." He was getting more confident as Dean moved the gun away from his chest in shock.

He couldn't believe it. That's what that note was about. Sam thought Dean wouldn't love him because of what this fucker did to him. Dean's emotions wheeled around in his brain until they finally landed on anger. Everett was wrong. He did love Sam. He just couldn't think about it because his little brother was 13. That wasn't right. Dean knew that one day, they would be together, he just couldn't think about it at the current time. Sam was just so young.

His anger surfaced and Dean gripped his pistol tight and dragged it across Everett's face. Blood flew and the kid dropped. Dean leaned over him and grabbed his collar, whispering in his ear.

"So what? Maybe I love him too. You gonna do anything about it? You almost killed my brother today and I will never forgive you for that. If I ever see your face again, I ain't just gonna pistol-whip the shit outta you. I will kill you." Dean pushed Everett against the floor, tucked his gun back into his jacket and left the bathroom, anger plastered on his face.

+++++

When Dean got home, there were no locked doors, the water glass was empty, and the bleeding had stopped.

Sam stayed asleep as Dean dressed his wounds better with gauze and ACE bandage. The cuts were deep and if Dean hadn't been hungry, Sam would've died. He quietly thanked his father for his appetite and grabbed the comforter from his bed. He threw it across Sam, who was now awake, just watching Dean.

The smile across Dean's face reassured Sam that nothing was wrong and nobody hated him, but he still felt so empty.

That emptiness was almost filled when Dean kicked off his boots, stripped to just his jeans and climbed in next to Sam. A hand brushed brown bangs out of his eyes and caressed his face, knuckles brushing against cheek.

"Dean. I'm sorry." Sam turned and stared at his brother, not understanding.

"Shut the fuck up, Sammy. You have nothing to be sorry about. Just don't do shit like that anymore. Tell me when something's going on. Don't try and..." Dean waffled his hand through the air. "That. Don't do that. I love you and I don't want to lose you." He placed his hand back on his brother's arm and smiled at him.

"But... How can you love me? He... Fuck, he..." Sam couldn't get it out of his mouth. Couldn't grow the pair to say it. A tear rolled down his cheek. "I wanted it to be you. You, Dean."

Dean smiled and brushed the tear from his brother's cheek. "I know, Sammy. And it won't be me. Not now, at least. But I promise you, I love you. You are perfect, and a damn good artist if I say so myself." He smiled when he was able to coax a laugh from Sam. "I don't want you to worry, okay? It won't ever change between us. I will always love you. No matter what." Dean rubbed small circled into Sam's shoulder with his thumb.

Sam looked uncertain as Dean continued his speech. "Promise, Dean. Promise me." He furrowed his eyebrows and raised a pained arm to lay on his brother's hip. "Please."

Dean smiled and placed a kiss on his brother's temple. "I promise." He scooted up on the bed until Sam's head was tucked under his chin and placed a hand in his hair. "Now go to sleep and stop worrying about it."

Dean felt fingers curl on his hipbone and he smiled into Sam's hair as his brother fell into a dreamless sleep.

**A/N:** Okay, I know that is NOT what someone would do if they walked in on someone who just slit there wrists. They would call an ambulance and get them to a hospital. But I tried to think about what Dean would do and calling an ambulance when he would know to just stop the bleeding and get liquids in him seemed weird. So, sorry if it was written weird. Think of it as Winchester style. And I also apologize for Sam's breakdown scene. It's written kind of...choppy, I guess. That's the only way to explain it. I wrote it this way because when you're having a panic attack or a nervous breakdown, you don't really understand what's going on and your feelings overwhelm you and you just can't do anything but react. So that's that.

I hope you guys liked it. There is an epilogue on the way. I just thought it would be better to write the end as an epilogue than with this part of the story. It'll be pretty short and purely smut and smush...


	4. Epilogue

The blade cut smoothly down his arm, blood immediately streaming down his arm. It felt alright, but there was a niggling in the back of Sam's mind telling him this wasn't right. That he couldn't kill himself. Dean was out there and would kill him. A laugh bubbled out of a dying throat at that thought.

Banging on the door made Sam lift his head and notice the grey spotting his vision. It was Dean. It was always Dean. Sam could hear the shouts that were always along the lines of "Sammy, open the door." or just "Sam... SAM!"

Sam kept himself on the floor, bleeding out as Dean hit the door with his fist. And like always, a clear "Guess he doesn't want any pizza." could be heard through the wood, and dread would wash over Sam. Dean was supposed to bust in and save him, right? Where was Dean.

"Dean." Sam tried calling out, but his vision was darkening and his voice was merely a whisper. "Please."

And then blackness.

_Sam's tears were drying on the pillow beneath him as Dean held his brother close to him. ___

_"Shh, Sammy. It was just a dream. Right here." Dean felt a hand grip his where it rested on his brother's cheek. "Right here."___

_It had been two years since the day Dean found his little brother bleeding out on the floor of their bedroom. The nightmares used to be frequent, almost every night. Sam never told him if they were of Everett, or of the events afterward, but Dean knew they were bad. Now that a couple of years had passed, they were almost gone. But every now and then, like tonight, Sam would have another one. And Dean could tell when it wasn't just a regular nightmare. Sam would reach out to him, even in his sleep, and cry his name. It would wake him and he would go and comfort his brother. ___

_"Dean." Sam's breaths came out in short pants against Dean's neck. Unfortunately, Dean was a 19 year old boy and Sam was beautiful. Well, handsome was more like it. In the short two years since then, Sam had grown a few inches and now was the exact height of his older brother. He had left pudgy behind, and was getting some very nice muscles. ___

_As Sam's hand moved to pull Dean closer, Dean couldn't help as his erection brushed against Sam's leg. It wasn't appropriate. They hadn't ever fooled around before, even though Dean knew he still loved Sam. And on top of that, Sam had just woken from a nightmare having to do with his enemy, a rapist. Not cool, Dean.___

_Sam's breath stopped short as he felt the hardness in his brother's boxers. He could then immediately feel that this made his body happy. His length soon matched his brother's and his hand traveled down Dean's back and over his hip.___

_"Sammy." Dean's hand grabbed Sam's as it made its descent. "No." He pulled his brother's hand back toward their touching chests. He opened his eyes to see Sam staring at him with hurt in his eyes.___

_"Dean, please. Make it better." Sam pleaded with his brother to help him. He had been waiting for too long for the touch of Dean's hand. He needed it like people in Hell needed ice water. "Please." He nuzzled closer to Dean and brushed lips against his brother's neck. He felt Dean shiver at the touch and smiled against the smooth skin. ___

_Dean could never deny his brother anything. This was his Sammy and he was asking for help. Hell, Dean needed a little helping too if the tent in his boxers had anything to say about it. ___

_Sam felt Dean's arm mirror his previous movement as it traveled over his back and down his side to rest at the top of his boxers. ___

_"Turn over." Dean whispered the order into his brother's ear. The bed squeaked a bit as Sam rolled to face away from Dean. Dean's hand stayed on him the whole time, assuring his brother he wasn't going to make a run for it. ___

_Dean reached forward and slipped his fingers into Sam's boxers. "Lift." The word was followed by Sam's hips lifting from the bed and Dean pulling the cotton shorts down to his brother's knees. ___

_Dean could feel the heat of his brother before he even reached the target; could smell the musk that _**_was_**_ Sammy. He placed his lips on his brother's neck and sucked and bit as he placed his hand on his brother's hard cock. ___

_A moan sounded from Sam's mouth and his hips bucked forward into Dean's touch. His brother's lips and teeth on his neck added spark to the fire that was his hand. Dean was rubbing his thumb over Sam's slit and moving his hand up and down the shaft at an incredibly slow and agonizing pace. ___

_Sam had jacked off plenty of times and pretended it was Dean's hand, but this was real, and it was almost too much. He had to keep the moans held in so John couldn't hear him across the hall. If their father had walked in on something like this, Sam was sure all Hell would break loose and both the boys would be dead. ___

_After what seemed like a lifetime of slow, agonizing, beautiful torture, Dean quickened the pace and left Sammy gasping into the pillow as he came; think strings landing on the sheets.___

_"Fuck." Sam felt Dean's as it moved to his hip and he reached back and grabbed it. He turned his head and faced his brother, eyes almost rolling back in his head at the pleasure that just coursed through him. "Dean... Fuck."___

_His eyes closed as he turned the rest of his body to face his brother and breathe in the scent of him. All her heard through the ringing in his ears was a laugh and he could almost see the smirk on Dean's face through his eyelids.___

_Sam snuggled closer to his brother's frame, and despite being around the same size, seemed to fit perfectly into the circle of Dean's arm. He felt so warm and loved and knew that the nightmares would never get him. He smiled into Dean's neck, nibbling a bit like his brother had done to him what felt like forever ago. A gasp sounded from Dean's lips and Sam tried it again. He smiled wider as he snaked his arm down and cupped his Dean through his boxers. This was going to be fun._

+++++

Sam sat in the passenger seat of the Impala, head against the cool window, eyes on the clouds. He could remember that night perfectly. It was the first time Dean had ever touched him and he had reciprocated. Just thinking about it made him pull his jacket over his lap.

Yeah, he had loved Jess, but she was gone. And Dean had been there; had rescued him from death. Again.

It had been eight years since Sam had tried to kill himself. He was over it. But the scars on his arms still remained a constant reminder to the mistake he almost made. He ran a finger of the bump of a line on his left arm. He thanked Dean everyday he lived for rescuing him and showing him what he would've missed if he had gone through with it.

Sam turned his head and watched Dean for awhile. A curve of a smile showed Sam that Dean knew he was being watched and Sam had to smile back.

It was hard times for the Winchesters. Dean needed to find their dad, Sam mourned his lost love, but celebrated his found one, and both of them were obviously tense from the eight years apart. Sam wanted that to change right then. But he would wait. Until Dean was ready. When they were young, Sam always pushed and pushed at Dean until his big brother gave into what he wanted. Then he ran away and left Dean with nothing.

It was time he apologized, and making Dean comfortable and un-pushed seemed the only way. He pulled his jacket from his lap and wrapped it around his shoulders as he settled into the seat, eyes falling shut.

+++++

Sam woke up to his head hitting the window full force as the Impala hit a pothole in what seemed to be the parking lot of another shitty motel.

"Wake up, sleepyhead. We're home." Dean punched Sam in the arm and got a glare in return, but just smiled back as he pulled in front of the office. Sam waited in the car as Dean made his way up to pay and get the keys. And he wasn't sad when he got a nice glimpse of ass as Dean stepped onto the curb.

Sam smiled to himself and put his jacket on so he'd be ready to unpack the trunk when they got to the room. It wasn't long until Dean walked back out of the office, got into the Impala, and drove the few yards to their room.

Sam unbuckled his seat belt and stepped out of the car. The night was cool and it smelled like downtown. He wrinkled his nose as the smell hit him and he looked around to see the Dumpster right next to him.

He turned to tell Dean how awesome their room was, but didn't see him anywhere. Sam shrugged and went around to the trunk to get his duffel. Finding it locked, he looked at the door that was standing ajar and glared at the Dean he couldn't see. He could've at least opened the trunk for him instead of just blowing unpacking off.

Sam walked toward the open door to find Dean and the keys. Just because Dean wanted to get drunk and sleep in his jeans did **not** mean Sam didn't want his pajamas. And toothpaste, for that matter. Yuck.

He pushed the door open all the way and took a breath in to yell at Dean, but got that breath taken away as said brother shoved him against the doorjamb and locked his lips to Sam's. Tongue slipped into Sam's welcoming mouth and dueled as Dean pulled Sam toward the bed.

No words were exchanged. Words didn't need to be exchanged. Sam knew it was bound to happen, and he deemed now a perfect time.

He felt the back's of Dean's knees hit the bed and he pulled away from his brother. Dean looked disappointed, but pulled away as well. Sam wanted to see this new Dean that he hadn't seen in four years. Green eyes were still a beautiful emerald and the bow of a mouth was still just as kissable. He pulled his hands away from Dean's lapels, where they were gripped, and placed them on the sides of his brother's neck. Sam smiled. No words, just a smile.

A mirrored smile showed itself on Dean's face and Sam went for those lips. He nipped and sucked and when Dean opened up for him, he explored the hot cavern like it was something completely new to him. Dean moaned in response and met his tongue with Sam's and he was pushed onto the bed.

Dean smirked at Sam taking control. Sam smirked back and pushed Dean's shoulders down so he was lying on his back. Sam followed suit, but turned to the side so he was on his side, facing Dean.

Dean turned, smirk still planted on his face, and pushed Sam's shoulder so he was on his back. The tables had turned, and Sam was just fine with that. He was always more comfortable when Dean, or Jess for that matter, was on top. He might be six-foot-four, but he was a total bottom and could give a shit less.

Dean straddled Sam's waist and leaned forward, seeking a mouth. His hands traveled over Sam's torso and down, under his shirt. He pulled away from his brother long enough to say "Off" and then mouths clashed once more.

Sam reluctantly pulled his hands from Dean's shoulders and started to free himself from his jacket. Dean almost fell off the bed trying to get his own clothes off. Between articles of clothing, they would find each other's lips again and get lost in the feeling. Until Sam would start to buck his hips against Dean, telling him to get off so he could get rid of the denim restraining what they both wanted.

Dean grinded down onto Sam, moaning in his brother's mouth. His hands traveled down and undid the fly of Sam's jeans and shimmied down his brother's body to stand at the foot of the bed and pull them off. Dean couldn't help but stare. It had been four years and now he had Sam all to himself.

He quickly got rid of his jeans and returned to his position straddling Sam. The touch of skin on skin made both men groan and grab each other like it was their last day on Earth. Their mouths and tongues clashed, trying to get everything they missed during the last four years back.

Sam groaned at the touch of Dean's fingers on his cock. It was already hard and throbbing, and Dean's touch made it almost painful. Sam almost yelled when the hand started moving. It's callused fingers rough on his cock made him look into his brother's eyes, almost pleadingly, telling him to hurry up and get it on already,

Dean released Sam's cock and leaned down, kissing and biting his brother's neck. He trailed kisses down Sam's chest, stopping at each nipple and relearning them with his tongue. His brother was moaning above him and he knew that he would explode if he played it romantic. That would be for later.

Sam could feel Dean speed up his progress and he was grateful. He felt like one touch would send him over the edge. He knew it wouldn't, though. Sam didn't come until Dean said so.

He gasped as he felt a finger circling his entrance. He opened his eyes and looked at his brother's face.

Dean knew he was smirking at his little brother below him. He just loved the way he could make Sam react. He pushed at Sam's entrance and watched the quick grimace at the intrusion. Dean leaned over and placed his lips against Sam's as he pushed his finger in up to the knuckle. When he curled his finger inside of his brother, he caught the moan coming from Sam's mouth with his own. The sounds Sam made killed him. He didn't know how he survived without his brother for four years.

Sam's hands were against Dean's face, holding him against him as his brother worked. He wanted Dean as close as he could get. Four years was way too long and he wasn't about to let Dean go. He bucked against his brother when a second finger entered him. He pushed back onto them, fucking himself on his brother's fingers. He moaned into Dean's mouth.

"Dean, fuck. Do it." Sam wanted Dean, now. He couldn't wait any longer. All he heard from his brother was a muffled "m'kay" and then he felt warmth leave him as Dean sat up and reached into the bedside table drawer and pulled out a small tube.

Sam laughed and sat up to kiss Dean's chest. "Always such the boy scout."

Dean pushed Sam back down on the bed as he lubed himself and his brother. He pulled one of Sam's legs up and placed himself at his brother's entrance.

The solidness at his ass made Sam's eyes roll back into his head. He moaned and grabbed Dean's hips, pulling him forward. Dean obliged and pushed against Sam. He entered into his brother slowly, watching Sam's face go from pained to needy to content. He felt Sam relax around him and a quiet "Move."

Dean pulled out to his head and slammed back into Sam. The tightness around his cock was so familiar, but seemed so new. He grabbed Sam's other leg and lifted it onto his shoulder, deepening his movements. Sam started moaning, and loud, as Dean hit his spot over and over and over. Dean felt warmth pool at his spine and knew was close. He grabbed Sam's cock in his hand and moved it in time with his thrusts, giving a twist at the end of every pull. He saw Sam shudder and knew his brother was close, too.

The moaning was coming from both of them now, and Sam was sure that their temporary neighbors could hear them through the thin walls. He smiled at the thought and then faltered. He was so close and all he could feel was Dean pounding against his prostate and his hand on his cock. But then he knew that he would get release soon as Dean let go inside of him and he could feel himself be filled up. He let out a short yell at the feeling, loving it.

"Come." Dean loosened his grip on his brother's cock, but kept pumping as he came. Sam bucked into his hand a couple of times and then came, strands of come landing on his stomach and chest.

Dean pulled out of his brother, kissing away the hiss that escaped from his mouth. Sam could only lay there while Dean got off the bed and went into the bathroom. He stared at the ceiling and thought about what just happened and how he had wanted it so bad. And he wanted it again, and again, and again. He never wanted Dean to leave him. He was his rock and his love and he could never leave Sam.

Sam smiled when Dean came back in and cuddled into the side of him. He snuggled into the side of his brother, but a hand on his chest stopped him. He looked up at Dean to see him smiling down at him.

"Welcome back and all, but go clean yourself up before we...you know." Dean pointed between the two of them and shrugged.

Sam laughed and rolled out of the bed and onto his feet. He made sure to show off all the good parts and turned to Dean. "It's called spooning. And before you start making jokes and laughing, you're the one who started it when we were younger." Sam laughed again at the smile on his brother's face, telling him that Dean didn't care how girly cuddling was. That he loved Sam just as much as Sam loved him. Sam turned and headed toward the bathroom. "By the way," he said over his shoulder. "It's good to be back."

+++++  
**A/N:** DONE! I'm going to make a masterlist and fix up the posts to include links to all the other chapters. I just realized that that would probably help you guys much more. I love you all and thanks for reading and commenting!


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